Invictus
by Harry Morgan Le Fay
Summary: Tired of his world and it's upset outcomes, he gave up his life to see what awaited him. Reincarnated in Westeros his name will be feared by many and his legacy will last for millennia. Lord of the Vale, he will be the beckoning of a new world. He will play the game of thrones, but it will be his game. Vallis, Gubernator, Invictus. OOC Reincarnated Harry.
1. Chapter 1

I do not own Harry Potter or A Song of Ice and Fire.

"Speech"

'Thoughts'

 _Flashback_

* * *

 _ **Chapter 1: Ascendance**_

 _ **Unknown time and place**_

He was awakened by a horrid sounding crack accompanied by the inevitable mild postural tremor due to being awakened after a long period of hibernation. Slowly he stood up straight, his eyes still blurry and irritated because of the long inactivity and hidden from light. Immediately abandoning his dejected posture, he looked out to his surroundings seeking knowledge of the area that he was in and hoped it was some place he recognized.

The truth was that he was on the edge of a painful looking abyss, where the cries of thunder echoed like a roaring crowd at a sporting event. It was all so dark, cold, and hazy. He could not make out anything try as he might and it was with great effort that he was just able to spot a scary looking cave in front of him.

Where he was? Who was he? How did he get there? The last time he was aware of his surroundings, he believed that it was during his last hours among all the stars and planets... YES! He remembered now! He had lived more than nine hundred years thanks to the Elixir of Life! He had surpassed two famous people… Nicholas… Nicholas and Perenelle Flamel! The original two who discovered and were the first to use the Elixir and who died at six hundred years of age.

His name was on the tip of his tongue, Harper? Haden? Harmon? Harry?... YES! His name was Harry, Harry James Potter was his name. He was a…. Magician? No… something to do with magic… a wizard? YES! He was a Wizard that came the closer than anyone has ever come to true immortality. However, he recalled a little somberly, living for a long time has its price, a high price of living lonely and becoming cynical. Harry made a name for himself that was almost unmatched in the magical world, the only close contender being that of Merlin himself. While using an alias, he built a business empire in the non-magic world, impacting a network of entrepreneurship in several important sectors of the commercial world and building a fortune.

After centuries of changing his appearance and name, and living over and over disguised as a descendant of himself, Harry gave up. His apathetic spirit over the years was turning into contempt for the laity around him. It was not arrogance, but only a realization of his ascension past humankind, that his knowledge became equal to Athena's children in the last centuries if he were to make a parallel with the Greek Pantheon of Wizarding Royalty. He married once in the wizarding world, and three times in the non-magical world, creating a legacy of descendants that helped him preserve his financial empire for many years as well as carrying on his family name. For the past two hundred years, he had chosen exile, preferring the company of books and creating new inventions to keep his mind occupied. Finally, he came to a decision: Harry decided to stop taking the Elixir of Life, giving up on continuing to live amid so much mediocrity and rabble with no one around that could challenge him. He was going to climb to the next level; a higher level; it was time for his ascension to the next plane of existence.

Turning rigidly to observe more of the environment, Harry only saw the deep pitch black with uninterrupted thunderstorms, "Where am I?" He whispered looking for signs of what was to come with slow steps and careful gaze he tried to discern anything. Suddenly, he felt pain beyond anything he recalled and fell on the rough ground before a loud ringing hit his ears driving the pain up. He felt a huge pain in the cranial box causing him to writhe on the ground with alternating pain from head to toe for what seemed like an eternity. Now in the fetal position, covering his ears trying to drown out the shrill noise, he suddenly had a feeling of his soul being pulled out of the body he had used for over nine-centuries. For a few seconds, Harry struggled against the pull as he tried to breathe normally, then immediately his senses and mind left him leaving only the darkness with his lifeless body. It slowly drawn over the edge into the abyss as his soul, mind, and consciousness left to somewhere else.

 ** _xxx_**

 _Vale of Arryn. 298 AC_

 _Harry's Age: 18_

A young man hurried his steps, causing noise due to the friction between the soles of his boots and the marble surface they walked. The white stone corridors were heated by thick woolen tapestries in sky blue and white colors giving ornate depicting the stories of great battles, events, and famous people of Arryn house. Although it is summer, the Eyrie felt cold. Especially on the outside, not that it's a surprise, the castle is in the Mountains of the Moon. Passing by one of the windows, he could see a light powder of snow on the outside in the garden and was satisfied because, despite the low temperature, the rich harvest of wheat, corn and barley growing areas was not impaired in the least. Turning his attention to where he walked, he approached a large set of doors waving to the guards with a stoic face as they bowed and opened the doors for him. Harry quickly came in and stepped forward when the door closed behind him.

The Eyrie had undergone internal reform in recent years. The High Hall was now separated into two rooms by four pillars carved and adorned in black Asshai stones. The Throne of House Arryn and Meal Hall were separated end to end in the long, austere corridor. The floor next to the throne was now made of mosaic stones representing the earth circle, symbolizing the lives of animals and plants, and thick blue carpet covered much of the floor. On the ceiling there was a chandelier in the shape of a hawk that weighed 300 pounds, made of brass plated in silver and encrusted with blue quartz. 2000 candles added to the decoration of the chandelier that when lit, illuminated all the hall. The chandelier was suspended by a long chain of iron from the high ceiling with extra supports to hold the weight.

The walls of the hall were white marble marked with runic inscriptions in blue that seemed to glow in the candlelight. Also along the walls were aarrow arched windows, among which, Dragonstone sconces complemented the design. Ahead, a small set of five steps covered by a blue carpet stretched directly to the throne of House Arryn. It was the same seat that was sculpted from Weirwood. Beside the throne was a sculpture of a carved male figure standing on Asshai black stone, holding a bow in his hands. The great detail of the work of art was apparent: the man had a hawk's head with eyes in distinct colors: a gold stone embedded in one eye and a silver stone in the other eye. The eyes representing the mystical marriage of the Sun and the Moon as the statue stood six feet high. Harry idly mused that it looked like the statue of Ra he saw in Egypt once.

Taking his rightful seat on the throne, Harry then turned his attention to the people within the hall, "My Lords, my Ladies, may I have your attention!" The young man greeted everyone present in the High Hall while he sat elegantly on his throne. Holding in his hands a thick leather-bound book with a sky-blue falcon soaring against a white moon against a sky-blue field emblazoned on the front.

The young lord glanced briefly at his vassals and servants, who looked mournful and saddened in their appearance. The forlorn looks and funeral emotions of the environment didn't surprise him, no doubt wishing to continue their mourning before their new lord began his business. Harry understood since not even a week ago, the body of the ancient Lord of the Eyrie and Hand of the King was put to rest inside a tomb in the arms of the Stranger ( _the Seven_ ). His lord and father, Jon Arryn, was buried after being escorted from the capital to the Vale among a funeral procession worthy of the highest nobility. His body was followed by knights, vassals, lords, members of the domestic guard, and the care of several Silent Sisters.

It was no great surprise to him or anyone: His father was respected and loved by many in the Vale of Arryn.

Killed not on the battlefield by a worthy foe, but by an illness in the stomach that attacked without mercy. The Grand Maester Pycelle gave him poppy milk, so that his father would not suffer for long. _'That was a small mercy.'_ The King had told him in a letter sent with the royal seal and written in the handwriting of Robert Baratheon the First, himself. The Lord of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros and the head of House Baratheon of King's Landing.

 _'_ Stomach disease _'._ The young man thought and scoffed contemptuously as he thought about the true cause of his father's death. Although he was a prudent and wise man, at the same time, the late Arryn was extremely overconfident, believing that he did not leave traces in his investigations and inquiries. King's Landing is a city full of vipers and rats with eyes and ears in every alley, hole, and chink of the capital. Everyone is someone's informant in that cursed city. If you have a good nose, you can also smell the betrayal, lust, and greed in the air... that is… if you can smell past all the shit!

 _"The seed is strong"._ It was what his father had written to him a moon before he died, referring to what he learned about the Baratheon lineage while studying Malleon's book. Unfortunately, it was too late. Jon Arryn, Hand of the King, did not have time to gather evidence and present them before the King, the evidence showing that his three "legitimate" children were the product of incest between Queen Cersei and her brother Jaime.

With each passing day the Lannister influence grew more in Westeros and continued to increase the distance of his power with the other houses. Even within his own House Arryn. It would not be surprising if King Robert soon appeared dead, suddenly and without warning. If this were to happen, it would be perhaps the worst news for the kingdom as many would make their bid for the crown. The young Mr. Arryn lived close to many of the Lannister during his childhood, while following his father to and in King's Landing. He even got to meet the queen herself, who he saw as an intelligent but equally unbalanced woman, which made her fitting for her king in some ways. The kingdom under the regency of the Lannisters, should the King die, would be a corrosive chaos over a damn tyrant absolutist monarchy. He met the prince, Joffrey Baratheon, a boy that had an uncontrollable temper not unlike his mother Cersei and an uncontrolled sadistic trait. This was in addition to being ambitious and not that bright.

'Enough of that for now,. I gathered my vassals here for a reason.' The young man thought after emerging from his absorbed state. He looked at his servants with an uncompromising stare. Realizing that they were awaiting his announcement resignedly. Well, he would not let his father's death be in vain, 'I'd never agree to bend my knees to some bastard either. I am Harry Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie, Defender of the Vale and Warden of the East. I have faced enemies worse than a lion and have lived long enough to look at Olenna Tyrell and Tywin Lannister as if they were two spoiled children.' The one now known as Lord of the Vale thought knowing that he would show them why he was to be feared and respected.

* * *

 _End of chapter_

Harry was born in 280 AC. In this edition he has no Blackfyre ancestry. Now he's a pure Arryn.


	2. Chapter 2

I do not own Harry Potter or A Song of Ice and Fire.

"Speech"

 _'Thoughts'_

"Shouting"

 _Flashback_

* * *

Daenerys Targaryen stood with her arms folded on the window sill and a melancholy look on her face as she gazed at the waters of the bay. The square brick towers of Pentos were black silhouettes outlined against the setting sun. She could hear the red priests singing as they lit the night fires mixed with the screaming chatter of ragged children playing outside the walls of the estate. For a moment she wished she could be with them, bare feet, out of breath and clothed in rags, with no past or future, no banquet to go to in Khal Drogo's mansion.

There was a soft knock on the door.

"Come in." Said Daenerys, turning away from the window. Illyrio Mopatis' maids entered with reverence and began to work on their tasks. They were slaves, a gift from one of the many Dothraki friends of the magister.

Magister Illyrio was a merchant of spices, precious stones, dragon bones, and other things that were shall we say… less than palatable. He had friends in all the Nine Free Cities, it was said, and even beyond them, in Vaes Dothrak and in the lands of fables by the Sea of Jade.

 _"Why does he give us so much?"_ She asked, to her brother once long ago. _"What does he want from us?"_ For almost half a year they had been living in the Magister's house, eating his food, being pampered by his servants. Daenerys was thirteen years-old, enough to know that such gifts rarely came without price there, especially in the free city of Pentos.

 _"Illyrio is no fool."_ Her brother, Viserys, answered. He was a skinny young man, with nervous hands and a feverish air in his pale lilac eyes. _"The magister knows that I will not forget my friends or anyone who shows themselves to be one, when I ascend the throne."_

Daenerys, listened to the talk in the streets and heard strange rumors about the magister, but she also knew better than to question her brother while he weaved his dream webs. When it was awakened, Viserys' wrath was terrible. He called it "the waking of the dragon" and the name was all too true.

The maids filled the tub with hot water from the kitchen and perfumed it with odorous oils. One of the girls pulled the coarse cotton tunic over Dany's head and helped her into the tub. The water was scalding, but Daenerys did not hesitate or shout. She liked the heat. It made her feel clean. Besides, her brother had often told her that nothing was ever too hot for a Targaryen. _"Ours is the House of the Dragon,"_ he would say. _"The fire is in our blood."_

One of the slaves, a sixteen-year-old girl with light hair and blue eyes, chattered endlessly while she worked, washing her long white hair and gently removing dirt with a brush while another scrubbed her back and her feet. The slave girl told her:

"Drogo is so rich that even his slaves wear gold necklaces, his khalasar have a hundred thousand horsemen, and his palace at Vaes Dothrak, two hundred rooms and doors of solid silver" and there was more of the same, much more; as the khal was a handsome man, tall and fierce, fearless in battle, the best knight who had ever ridden a horse, a demonic archer.

Daenerys said nothing. She had always assumed that she would wed Viserys when she came of age. For centuries the Targaryens had married brother to sister, since Aegon the Conqueror had taken his sisters to bride. The line must be kept "pure," Viserys had told her a thousand times; theirs was the Kingsblood, the golden blood of old Valyria, the blood of the dragon. Dragons did not mate with the beasts of the field, and Targaryens did not mingle their blood with that of lesser men. Yet, now Viserys schemed to sell her to a stranger, a barbarian.

 _"We go home with an army, my sweet sister. With Khal Drogo's army, that's how we're going to go home, and if you have to marry him and sleep with him and bed him for that, you will._ " Viserys said/commanded of her. _" I'd let his whole khalasar fuck you if need be, sweet sister, all forty thousand men, and their horses too if that was what it took to get my army. Be grateful it is only Drogo. In time you may even learn to like him."_ Her brother had stated to her a clear sign of his growing desire for war to claim the throne, though she doubted he'd ever let her bare Drogo a child.

 ** _xxx_**

 _Vale of Arryn._

Dozens of horsemen galloped on their horses while they descended a narrow trail surrounded by forests and, despite what people would think, the quality of the road was in excellent condition. There were more than fifty Knights of the Vale in their shiny armor carrying House Arryn banners, swords and spears studded with diamonds, fine silks on their horses adorned with steel emblazoned with the Crest of House Arryn. These knights rode as they had their expressions hidden by helmets and faceplates and closed with large crests of a hawk beautifying each helmet. They were large men of firm and noble posture. No army in the Seven Kingdoms could equal the pride and chivalry of the Knights of the Vale. After all, they were the first true knights in Westeros and held true to that honor every day.

Commanding the clutter of hulls by Stone (Waycastle), having passed the steep descent of Snow (Waycastle), near the foot of Giant's Lance, sitting upright on the saddle of a great black steed, was Harry Arryn once known as Harry Potter.

The young lord of eighteen years of age was exposing his handsome face to the caress of icy wind. He had a young countenance, but everyone know it was one loaded with apparent wisdom and mystery. This was accentuated by his eyes, green and as bright as emeralds. His light brown hair had been pulled back and fastened with loops around with loose fringe strands. Harry wore white silk, black high-top boots resting on the stirrup, and a cloak of azure blue satin. On the chest of his tunic, the emblem of his House was embroidered: a sky-blue falcon soaring against a white moon.

 _'Despite the inclement weather of Giant's Lance, closer and closer my cavalry is approaching the Gates of the Moon. All in less than two hours.'_ Harry thought tactically, _'Under other circumstances it would take half a day, at a time when we would be exposed to attacks from the Arctic defenders and their three contours along the way.'_ He continued thinking glad that he was going now instead of such a time.

Stone, the first waycastle, Snow, the second waycastle and Sky, the third waycastle, were narrow ways, dangerous, and prone to small avalanches and ambushes. It comes as no surprise, not least because, The Eyrie is located six hundred feet above.

But now it is possible for this little trip to be shorter and safer. Mainly because of the reconstruction of the land strip between the Gates of the Moon and the Eyrie. And vice versa.

The reconstruction was done first through trenches in the soil, some pipes to drain the soil and a foundation was laid using crushed gravel, crushed brick and a cement invented by Harry himself. The cement or mortar was a mixture of sand, pieces of tile, calcined limestone and volcanic ash. On top of that, a thinner gravel layer was added to the core and the road came to the surface with blocks of square stone.

In fact, prior to the reconstruction, the entire region of the Vale enjoyed a maximum of three roads, all of them very poor in quality.

For the past two years, Harry ruled the east coast region of Westeros. Since then, he had been building roads linking some of the Seat and settlements including from Gulltown to Runestone, Bloody Gate to Longbow Hall, Wickenden to Redfort, Redfort to Gulltown, Bloody Gate to Heart's Home, Bloody Gate to Ironoaks, Snakewoods to Coldwater and then to Fingers, and Ironoaks to Old Anchor.

The entirety of this path, which encompassed a regional circular network, had been paved with reused stones from the wonderful topography radically different from the Eastern Road. Generally, these stones were the result of landslides that occurred in the mountains that surrounded the Vale, the region was filled by thousands of this solid aggregate. The form of fabrication was simple, they used a chisel and a sledgehammer to break the large stones into the shape of a quadrilateral. The roads had a standard fifteen feet width, which was enough space for two carriages to pass each other. A Sidewalk of white marble imported from Tarth in the sea narrow, already filled with pedestrians, usually ran along either side of the road, six feet wide.

Adding to all of this was an adequate irrigation and drainage system, and a more robust sewage network.

 _'We had the worst roads within the seven kingdoms.'_ He thought as he leaned a little on the animal's back while maneuvering the rein majestically, calming the steed that was snorting. Probably a move to clear the nostrils and increase oxygenation or perhaps even to get some warmth to them.

He quickly shook those thoughts away and returned to his previous thoughts. The financial return from his improvements was enormous. Especially for the trade of products brought by native sellers from every corner of the narrow sea, between the two continents of this world. Lord Arryn and his vassals interacted and did business primarily with the Free Cities and Summer Isles, most of the time. Harry was trying to make a policy of not being very prominent, preferring to work in the shadows. Generally, a nail that stands out too much in Westeros, is hammered quickly and Harry wanted to be the one holding the hammer not the one being hit with it.

Harry also built a large Inn in Gulltown, the major port city of the Vale of Arryn. It was located in the beautiful natural harbor at the northern tip of the Bay of Crabs, southeast of the Eyrie and south of nearby Runestone, and planned to build another between the Mountains of the Moon and the Bloody Gate, both of which would be watched for spies of course. In the same place where he was taking some of his vassals and knights to exterminate the men.

The steed shook with ardor and Harry had to tighten his hand on the hard reins. However, a petulant voice caught his ear in the proximity, "How wonderful it is to walk down this road without being bothered by cracked steps and treacherous stones."

Harry looked in the direction of the voice and noticed the knight at his side. Like him, the man was not wearing a helmet. Ser Lyn Corbray. He was a handsome man, light-skinned, with shoulder-length brown hair. Although at the same time extremely vain, reckless and temperamental. He was part of his personal guard, though Harry questioned it at times.

On the knight's waist was the notorious _Lady Forlorn_ , sheathed, hiding the Valyrian steel.

 _'By the seven hells! I might be the only Lord in the seven kingdoms, without an ancestral Valyrian steel sword.'_ Young Arryn thought comically though he didn't necessarily need one. He learned about the command of the Ser Barristan Selmy, Barristan the Bold, during his childhood at King's Landing. And yet he went without his own ancestral blade.

Returning his attention in the immediate vicinity, he discreetly understood the reason for the agitation of his steed. Ser Lyn was riding a gray mare and that led to one conclusion in Harry's mind, "Is that mare in heat, Lyn?" Harry asked simultaneously bringing a bottle he carried to his mouth and took a sip of water.

"She's been weird for the past few days, my lord, ah ..." Lyn's thoughts drifted uncertainly, searching for words. He immediately stiffened like a board and sat up on the animal's back as he noticed the excitement of his lord's battle horse. A thin layer of sweat trickled down his pale forehead knowing that he was possibly causing his lord problems.

"Well..." He said trying to think of something, "The mares of the Vale are always in heat, especially when my lord is around." Throwing his head back, the knight laughed loudly while a few of the others merely shook their heads at him.

"Idiot." Harry murmured, sighing in annoyance.

The lamp posts were being lit along this stretch, and walls of stones crowned with iron points were now erupting as the ground became less declining and winding. Harry lifted his face against the splashing spray that fell from the cloud-laden sky as he trotted his steed on a hard trot, and the gloom deepened. As he advanced into the gloom, square towers emerged lighted by torches glittering across walls. Hovering over moonlight reflected moat, stood the stout Gates of the Moon. He peered to his right and saw the East Tower. On the other side of the castle was the Falcon Tower. Among them stood great buttresses, a yard, barracks, barn, dungeon, covered bridge and a guarded casket for archers. The banners that fluttered in their battlements were sky blue and white, showing the hawk against the white moon of the Arryn House.

"I told you that you should be more respectful to your lord, Ser Lyn." Came a rumbling voice beside Harry. The owner of the stern and accusing commentary was mounted on a brown horse. He had his face lined and gray hair, slate gray eyes and very thick eyebrows. He was as tall as Sandor Clegane (Prince Joffrey's Watchdog), and with large, twisted hands. He wore a set of bronze armor, thousands of years old that was inscribed with runes that warded him from harm. Unlike the other knights, the coat of arms ornamented in his armor, was black iron studs on a bronze field, bordered with runes. At his waist rested, _Lamentation,_ a Valyrian steel sword. This was one of the most loyal men to Casa Arryn: Lord Yohn Royce, Lord of Runestone and Head of House Royce.

Lyn Corbray smiled mischievously, "I assure you, Lord Royce, I have the greatest respect for my Lord Harry. I confess to you, a respect which is greater than Giant's Lance." He voiced wildly as he took a sip of wine from his wineskin. He looked drunk, but keeping a dignified posture as he brandished the skin with one hand and skillfully held the rein with the other.

"So, Lord Royce... when will you arrange the betrothal between your daughter and my squire. An alliance between the Redfort and Royce Houses would strengthen the Vale even more." Asked the drunken knight bluntly.

Harry quickly noticed that Yohn was squeezing his hands tightly on the reins, and his face was taut, the Lord of Runestone's eyes were filled with anger. Well, that was a very bold and stupid question. It seemed Lyn wanted to throw more gasoline on the fire...

"Unless the noble Bronze Yohn hopes to see his lovely daughter, betrothed to Lord of the Eyrie here," The Lord Corbray pointed out wickedly at the same time, ruffling his hair with one hand and releasing a small yawn. He added. "If I remember correctly, Lord Arryn declared throughout the Vale that to avoid unequal power among the Houses, he would not marry any daughter of his subordinates..."

Yohn Royce grimaced indignantly at this audacity, and when he prepared to unsheathe his sword and go towards Lyn, it was interrupted by Harry, who parked his steed between the two knights.

"Enough!' He roared, his voice filled with irritation. Harry gave Lyn a threatening look, "Lyn, I told you to diminish your aggressiveness with Lord Yohn. That temperament will be your downfall one of these days." Then he looked at Yohn. "And you! Keep that blade sheathed. It's shameful to see a man of your importance acting immaturely." He said with disgust as he directed his forces forward again. His anger subsided as they reached their destination.

They entered through the gate of the castle, conjugating to the river of silver and polished steel of hundreds of men, a splendor of vassals and knights, sworn soldiers and squires. Meantime the others were dismounting, and stables boys ran to collect their mounts.

Harry slid gracefully from the saddle and with casual air, quickly arranged the long satin robe blown upward, nobly outlined against the stars for all to see.

He lifted his head amidst the clang of the crowd, and inspected closely the whole sea of people pressing against each other, and continued his search for the great lost treasure. The young Arryn was weary of shaking hands with the Valemen, and saluting a lord or another who came to praise him for being a splendid landlord.

When he found a familiar tuft of sand, Harry felt as if he had made his first discovery in the Department of Mysteries after a major operation that was carried out in total secrecy, "Harrold," he waved his hand. " I am here!"

Suddenly, a human missile appeared in front of him. It was a young man who had his hands on his knees breathing heavily. Harry looked at the young man in front of him, watching him coolly.

Harrold Hardyng, his personal squire, third-degree cousin, and the ward of Lady Anya Waynwood. A very handsome young man. He had sandy hair, deep blue eyes, dimples when he smiled, his nose was aquiline, and he looked like a young lord-in-waiting: straight as a spear, with clean limbs and hard muscles. It was said that Harrold had the look of his father, Jon Arryn, in his youth. Harry, however, was born with a greater influence of maternal genetics, appearing to be the male version of his mother, Lady Rowena Arryn.

Harrold's personal heraldry was displayed on his shield a design quartered with the arms of House Hardyng and House Waynwood displayed in the first and third quarters, respectively, and in the second and fourth quarters the moon-and-falcon sigil of House Arryn.

"My lord, I was looking for you." The young squire spoke after catching his breath. He respectfully bowed.

"You were looking for a friend of Myranda's to warm up your bed. You can whisper to me, I will not punish you." Harry retorted, swinging his hand contemptuously. He knew of the lust of his armor-bearer. Despite his youth, he was already the father of two bastard children.

Harrold was only a year younger than Harry; seventeen to Harry's own eighteen years of age.

"No, my lord, not at all, I was waiting for the right moment to take along your steed to stable." The squire explained startled.

"Whatever." Harry said in a monotonous voice. He approached the squire, handing over the reins of his animal. He turned his back and walked away without looking back.

"My good Lord, it's a pleasure to see you here at the Gates of the Moon again." He heard after walking several yards away from his squire.

Harry twirled softly, meeting the host's voice. It belonged to a massive, barrel-chested man. He was bald and possessed a gray beard. The man wore brown leather, and held a lamp in one hand, probably to illuminate the small room from which he came. Lord Nestor Royce, Keeper of the Gates of the Moon.

"Nestor, my good man! Wonderful to meet you one more time." Harry cheerfully greeted his vassal, squeezing his hand. Adding: "I hope my loyal knights are not causing much bustle."

The man looked momentarily embarrassed. Then bowed a little, "My lord flatters me. The Gates of the Moon are at your disposal." He said with deference. "Besides, my daughter, Myranda, is excited to see you, she's been beautifying all day long, eager for your arrival."

The two of them walked together for a long time, discussing the management of the place and some things involving the current system. They stopped the formal conversation once they reached the yard of the Gates.

The air in the backyard of the Gates of the Moon was filled with smoke and heavy with the smells of roast meat and freshly baked bread. The large crowned stone walls were adorned with banners. Sky-blue, white: Arryn's hawk. A singer played a harp and recited a ballad, but at this moment in the yard, you could hardly hear his voice above the roar of the fire, the clang of plates and pewter bowls, and the serious rumble of a hundred drunken conversations.

Harry settled himself on a bench by himself, filling a glass with the wine from a passing jug. Nestor had requested leave and left to continue his duties as a keeper. The sweet, fruity flavor of the amber wine from the Summer Isles filled his mouth and brought a smile almost imperceptible to his lips.

"Enjoying the feast, my good lord?" A familiar sweet voice asked him. The Lord of the Eyrie looked up with a small laugh as a young woman laid a hand on his shoulder and gently touched him.

She was a young woman who had been through the flowering period. She was short (5 feet 3 inches tall) and fleshy and chubby with pale skin. Although, this did not detract from her pleasant appearance, with a small mouth, brown eyes and curly brown hair. She wore a broad purple silk dress, and a white satin cloak on her arm. On her feet she wore pointed velvet slippers. She was smeared with the fragrance of lilac flowers. She was Myranda Royce.

Harry promptly stood, "Myranda," he said softly as he took her hand in his. "Seeing you again is a great joy." He guided the young woman to the bench beside him. Holding her gallantly, he only left her side once she was comfortable.

He offered her a glass of wine which she took, "Summer wine," Myranda said excitedly, after taking a sip, "There's nothing sweeter."

They talked at length about various matters. Laughing pleasantly, Harry was amused by Myranda's jokes while he took the opportunity to tell some stories of his adventures. He'd whispered about some people from the Vale, who were in greater debt to him, the couples who most fornicated, second, the maids' tales. They discussed rumors of who was the father of the newest bastard. Although, they dealt with more serious matters when Myranda requested funding for a project her had in mind.

"By the seven gods! It's a Shadowcat!" Someone exclaimed.

The couple who were absorbed in the conversation stood upright with a startle. Harry put his arms up to protect Myranda as his eyes moved quickly around the area, "Ignore the pandemonium, it's nothing serious." Myranda spoke as she snuggled into his arms.

Harry relaxed his muscles and realized that the yard was almost empty. He and Myranda were one of the few present in the area, and most of the men went to rest in their respective chambers. Tomorrow was to be an action-packed day.

Somewhat hidden beneath a tree was a mule. He recognized it, "Whitey ..." He whispered, "Where is Mya?" He asked confusedly. Whenever he was in the vicinity of the Gates of the Moon, the King's bastard daughter welcomed him warmly.

"Oh, she had to go to Gulltown. Find some leathers." Myranda concisely answered.

Turning to her lord. Myranda took her hand to his chin, her soft fingers caressing his face tenderly and smiled, "Your face without a beard could have any maiden in the Seven Kingdoms. Only your eyes would be enough to leave the girls wet between their legs," The young woman stroked his face, outlining it, gently tracing his mouth with her finger. She took to his hair with both hands and combed it with her fingers. "For the seven hells, all the maidens! His first time was with me two years ago, his virginity I took first." She laughed, pulling a drunken Harry into her bed chambers.

The night for the two was definitely going to be long and very passionate.

* * *

 _End of chapter_


	3. Chapter 3

I do not own Harry Potter or A Song of Ice and Fire.

"Speech"

 _'Thoughts'_

 **"Shouting"**

 _Flashback_

* * *

Vale of Arryn or the Vale. It is one of the constituent regions of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. It was formerly a sovereign nation ruled by the Kings of the Mountain and Vale before the Conquest of Aegon. The Moon Mountains surround the smaller Vale itself, though the name of the vale is often applied to the entire kingdom of the Arryn House.

The borders of the Vale are held to be the Bite to the north, the Bay of Crabs to the south, the Mountains of the Moon, then the Riverlands to the west, and the narrow sea to the east. The Vale consists of various regions: The Vale of Arryn itself; the Mountains of the Moon; the Snakewood; the Fingers; and the islands of the Three Sisters, the Paps, and Pebble.

The Vale was where the Andals disembarked and spread during their invasion of Westeros six thousand years ago. The region that lies to the east of the Riverlands tends to be slightly isolated from the rest of Westeros, so the noble families of the Vale are said to have among the purest lineages of the Andals within the Seven Kingdoms.

On the western edge of the vale lies a stream of shallow crystalline waters. Delimiting the crossing. It lies between The Mountains of the Moon, surrounded by a large area of fertile land with some vegetation, and protected by mountain ranges.

There are small tribes that inhabit the foothills of the Mountains of the Moon. These tribes are commonly known as _The Mountain Clans_ , they reject the rules of House Arryn, and if they could, they would piss over the skinned corpse of the Lord of the Eyrie.

"The trap worked, Lord Arryn. Our enemies are approaching. They are that desperate to breathe clean air." Harry Arryn nodded at the Bannerman.

Turning to the side to analyze the nine thousand combatants he oversaw. He formed his men in three lines, among which were knights, infantry, lancers, archers and vassals with their fluttering banners displaying: Five silver arrows, fanned out on brown for House Hunter; A red castle on a white field within a red embattled border for House Redfort; Nine stars, one of seven points and eight of six points, on a gold saltire within a black field for House Templeton; A broken black wheel on a green field for House Waynwood; And Black iron studs on a bronze field, bordered with runes for House Royce.

"Lord Yohn! I want you to position a group of archers on the side toward the summit." Harry ordered while pointing out to a hill, which was only a few miles away.

"Yes, my lord!" The tall man spoke, going in the direction he was told along with a contingent of archers.

Suddenly something moved in the pines around him. And the enemies began to appear like a swarm, "Who would have thought our Lord would be prepared to perform a blood cleansing in The Vale." Ser Lyn remarked lazily while mounted on his mare in a stately manner.

Harry merely ignored him while his thoughts occupied his attention. Thoughts concerning his opponents and those he would soon be slaying.

The mountain clans were and still are lawless robbers who descend from the heights to steal, slay, and vanish like snow in summer. When riders ride out in the vale in pursuit of them, they lose them or are ambushed before the clans continue to attack local villages, small groups of travelers, merchants. They take all the weapons, armor, and grain they can find along with all the women, whether they are married or not, noble women or small folk. They want to breed more of their clan without inbreeding too far.

"My lady has a thirst. Whenever she comes out to dance, she likes taste a drop of red." The Ser murmured avidly, unsheathing Lady Forlorn, and maneuvering the blade skillfully.

Harry sniffed and stared haughtily at the wildlings that sprang up like broken flowers after a painful winter.

On the margin east, north, and northeast shore were hordes of tangled wildlings. Sneaking around foolishly. They were hopelessly disorganized, muddy, wearing tattered pieces of armor with poor quality weapons, not all of them wielded weapons, they even had women and some children in the back.

The eastern sky bore a deep, dark emptiness, that was once placid. It was spinning in circles like something Dante's hell, a hundred fires spreading in the steep hills covered with the largest and most important group of conifers. Harry had his men set fire to the whole area where the descendants of the first men lived, wanting to draw them into a cleaner area closer. A stream. He set up a siege along the eastern road to prevent the flight of his enemies.

"To live in the service of himself is a plebeian philosophy. Noble man aspires to order and law." Harry replied concisely.

The Warden of the East had another reason to eliminate the last remnants of resistance in the Vale. The hawk of the mountains had its purpose, flat and objective and he would complete his objective.

He was adorned with heavy armor protecting his chest, shoulders, legs, and arms, while still allowing articulation and full range of motion, with the sky-blue hawk made of topaz on the breastplate. His head was covered by a helmet ornamented with blue diamonds and white crescents like moons.

Hardened leather was in the openings of the armor to protect against any hitches, especially the joints of his arms and legs. Soaked linen and wool trousers and shirt were used as padding and warmth. These lightweight clothes not only separated the armor from his body, but also prevented the friction and possible injuries caused by his armor on his skin. Without them, the armor would be pressed directly against his skin and could even cut it or cause huge blisters. Over the armor was a sleeveless tunic with the heraldry of House Arryn. The tunic Harry wore was different from that of ordinary people as it was long and light, giving him majestic appearance and aura. At his back rested a Bastard sword.

"My Lord, Lord Royce's men are standing waiting for your signal." Approached Harrold Hardyng, his squire. The young man paused for breath, exhausted after running all the way from the flank's left wing to the front where Harry was.

"Thank you, Harrold, now hold your shield and sword firmly, we will attack soon." Harry warned his squire. Turning around, he found nearby a small group of men carrying musical instruments, trumpets, bells, being protected by half a dozen men surrounding them with large shields with the heraldry of House Arryn. He gave a small nod to the man who led the band of musicians.

The sound of trumpets and timbales rolled down the vale. The crowd in mass followed the rhythm of these, a cacophony of bravado. And all the Valemen sang in an allegory:

 _There's a foe of a thousand swords of mud_

 _They've been judged by our heavenly hawk_

 _Our justice will be done about them_

 _For the grace for the might of our lord head of House Arryn_

 _For the glory of The Vale_

 _For the faith for the way of the sword_

 _All glory, all honor_

 _Will mine be so boldly_

 _Victory is upon us_

 _We're the Knights of the Holy See. We are the all-seeing eye_

 _We're the Knights of Vale_

 _Our path to history is paved with blood of sinners_

 _These last days, your death agonizes, in the seven hells ultimate_

 _No hope for survival, this doomsday is your final sight_

 _Dark and grim, your fate will begin_

 _In the fire and the pain, The Seven will reign on this doomsday_

 _In the name of the: The Father, The Mother, The Warrior, The Smith, The Maid, The Crone, and The Stranger._

"Non nobis domine, non nobis, sed nomine 'tuo da gloriam." The Knights of the Vale rejoiced, pointing the tip of their blades toward Harry Arryn.

Harry gave the Destrier a little touch with his knees. The black steed advanced with a soft, majestic bearing, while the crowd spread wings to let it pass, with all eyes set on it. He unsheathed his bastard sword by lifting it pointed up at the sky.

"Archers!" Shouted Harry and within a moment there came a rain of arrows like a furious storm upon the mountain clans. Hundreds of men fell to the ground, each with a pool of blood forming around them as they went to their death.

When the rain stopped, Harry quickly addressed his men, "Don't harm the women and children, but don't let them run off either." He ordered and soldiers sounded off in the affirmative before the cavalry rode through the stream and charged against the enemy while the courageous wildlings continued running toward the horsemen. The warhorses, which were in sync with the mounted knights and were trained for if their riders engaged in close combat, tore into the enemy ranks whether by trampling them or their riders cutting them down and concentrated on the rear to ensure no archers were hiding and so they couldn't retreat.

The lancers launched against the descendants of the first men while their long weapons ensured none got too close. Several bodies collapsed killed by spears or from being trampled by the horses.

Harry stood in front of the rest of his troops beholding the wildlings being massacred before he decided to enter the battle and deftly held his sword in hand, "Live by the sword. Die by the sword!" He roared, gaining enthusiastic cries from the men around. Harry rode on his steed, keeping one of his arms securely on the rein, with his Knights following him across the stream before they met the wildlings. Harry moved gracefully as he cut down every enemy he met: he struck down one with a lunge, turned to block a strike and then another before beheading one more attacker, and he continued without thinking and just reacted to the bodies around while ensuring he didn't hit some ally on his side. He moved his sword up in a defensive movement against a stick coming towards his head and grunted as the force of impact sent vibrations through his arms and made him fall to the ground.

Harry felt his arms throb as he held small rocks at the edge of the creek for support. Looking at his attacker, he came face to face with a huge wildling. The man looked like a half-giant with black and disheveled hair and a thick matted beard over his face. He had the height of at least two adult humans and the bulk to match.

Any normal man would have been afraid, but Harry had face Mountain Trolls and Mountain Giants when he still went by Potter and had _The Boy Who Lived_ as his title. So a mortal man against those things? Piece of cake.

That was however, if he could get up before the man decided to cave his head and chest in. Which nearly happened had Harry not rolled to the side quickly and knew the impact was strong based on the splash of water that came from the branch meeting the water covered ground.

Trying to recover quickly, the former Potter jumped up. Realizing immediately that the steed had fled the frightened battle after his fall. _Smart animal._ He thought, half laughing.

With no time to think much, he peered through the helmet at his opponent. A huge shadow fell over his face. He inclined his head upwards narrowing his eyes, noting that the half-giant stood above his head like a cliff. Harry stood 6 foot 4 inches tall. However, he felt like a dwarf before the mountain in front of him.

Knowing that he would have to compete in a test of strength against an opponent of this stature, Harry decided to be friendly, and gain time until his muscles relaxed from the fall. "I am Harry Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie. You are?" He introduced himself scornfully while he held his sword firmly in hand should his opponent decide to strike first and talk never.

"How would you like to die, Harry, Lord Stupid of the Eyrie? You want me to cut off your manhood and feed it to the crows?" His opponent asked before deciding to not wait for an answer and swung his branch down with a great deal of force.

Harry escaped from underneath and attacked with a sweeping blow that crunched against the the half-giant's face, and cut vertically the lower jaw. The wildling howled in pain. He wildly swung his huge mace and almost hit Harry, who escaped unscathed making a quick maneuver twisting his body at the last second. However, this did not help his fear when the ground gained a decent sized crater from where the mace struck.

Harry stepped forward and responded with a low thrust aiming his sword up toward the wildling's chest. However, the wildling defended himself using his mace, resounding with the raucous sound of hardened wood beating against steel. The man then retaliated with a kick to Harry's breastplate, sending him to the ground. The steel blade nearly fell from his fingers as the half-giant knocked him to the ground, and rolled on the grass. The enemy took advantage of Harry's moment of inattention and stepped up against him. However, speed was not the strong point of the walking mountain. The Lord of the Eyrie swerved under the arch of the mace and drew a line of red on the wildling's chest.

Air hissed over Harry's helmet, the mace catching him by a strand of his hawk crest. The helmet loosened for a few seconds, but he quickly fixed the piece on his head. However, the young man was grabbed by his neck suddenly before being thrown away. He landed at the edge of the creek while being disoriented from the throw and felt sharp pain through his whole body from the landing and this pissed him off.

' _Enough! This is not a game; I have to take this fight seriously. He must be the leader of one of the mountain clans_. _'_ Harry thought as he stretched his right arm in an attempt to catch his sword lying on the grass. Sensing his opponent's quickened approach, he managed to grab his bastard sword firmly in his fist. If it was a real fight that the wildling wanted, then so be it.

Harry twisted like an eel and with great agility thrust his blade into the calf of the half-giant, who gave a scream of pain. Then he removed the steel, revealing the painted red glow and exhaling a strong, numbing metallic scent from the splash of blood inside his helmet. He took a slow breath, since it was difficult to breathe with the odor of his opponent's blood covering his entire armor, he also felt his left arm begin to throb, after he landed on the rocky, hard ground. If he had to continue to defend against attacks from a mace, his arm wouldn't last long

Harry increased his pace and started fast and deadly attacks. He aimed an onslaught on the bulk of the wildling, but the mace came down to block. Slowing the momentum, he turned his wrist and cut toward the throat, however his opponent staggered back, holding the attack off awkwardly.

Flooded by dizziness the giant stumbled and almost fell.

The wildling ripped his mace from the ground where it lay when he got his bearings and set his gaze on Harry, "No more jokes, little man." The huge man spoke, pointing the finger at the young Lord. "Dead meat." He tried to take a step, but his weakened leg collapsed and he fell to his knees.

Harry wasted no time, he kind of ran, kind of jumped toward the giant of a man giving a fatal blow, cutting his opponent's head clean of his body.

"Finally." Harry whispered with a sigh of relief.

However, his moment of relaxation was short as one of the remaining wildlings, who was clearly enraged to see his fallen leader, threw himself at him. Harry quickly quieted the opponent's fury, cutting him across his chest. However, it was obvious that such a maneuver was taxing.

"Dammit! I still have to find the right balance with the weight of this new armor." Harry muttered between a few curses. He then bit back another curse as the adrenaline began to wear off and he felt the pain and exhaustion kick when his legs trembled before dropped to his knees, panting. When Harry heard footsteps behind him, he gripped his blade firmly in preparation for any attack. With some effort, he got the sword stabbed to the ground and leaned over. He grunted hard and stood erect ready to take a final lunge at any foe.

However, he sighed with relief when he heard the acknowledged voice of one of his vassals, "Are you well, my Lord?"

Harry twirled slightly to face the man. He was a man close to thirty and had a thick mustache. He was dressed in armor with an ermine cape fastened with a brooch with the arms of his house on it. He had a red nose and cheeks, which were from the cold no doubt. The man was Gilwood Hunter, son of Lord Eon Hunter the Lord of Longbow Hall. Thanking the Seven, he sheathed his sword and motioned for the man to approach him and noted the amazed and awed look on his face, "I'm fine Lord Gilwood. May I ask why you seemed so amazed?" Harry asked since he really didn't know why he would be unless Harry took more of a beating than he thought and the man wondered how Harry was alive.

"My lord, that was Dolf, the Leader of the Stone Crows. Even the most experienced knight of the Vale could not defeat him. Bards will turn your victory today into a story for all of Westeros to hear." Commented Gilwood Hunter respectfully while looking intently at the dead Wild.

"That's not important right now. Our men are tired and victorious. We will return home; the wildlings are dead. Are the women and children unharmed?" Harry commented then asked while all the Vale began to show twilight around them due to the late hour. Seeing Lord Gilwood nod, Harry sighed in relief since he didn't need that on his conscience, "Good, we'll have half of them stay with The Septas and the other half I will send to Myranda Royce, for now, and I'll have a settlement built for those that don't wish to remain in our current living areas." He stated as Lord Gilwood nodded in understanding before both looked over the battlefield.

Here and there knights chased down and attacked or captured the few survivors that ran for their lives and so ended the first battle that Harry had command of in this new world. Across the plains and hills, he could see there were bodies and more bodies lying staining the ground with blood and most likely to lie there to feed the crows and Shadowcats. Regrettably, but not surprisingly, there were some fallen knights, squires, and vassals but Harry would arrange for them to be brought back to their families to be buried with honor.

Harry climbed a large rock to ensure he was in full view of the entire troop. He watched as his men approached him looking curiously, "Men, we achieved a great victory today." The men looked carefully to their Lord, who continued with his speech, "So I have an order for all you, a very important order." Harry stared at his vassals seriously before showing a confident and proud smile, "'We will ride to Bloody Gate and there we will celebrate and have fun!" Harry exclaimed proudly with a pleased smile.

When they heard this, all his army raised their weapons and began filling the Vale with shouts; everyone shouted with the highest fervor. All of them walked to their respective horses singing, laughing and embracing in merriment. Harry watched from a distance as he rode on his black steed, which a squire had managed to track down, feeling proud of himself for his accomplishment.

* * *

End of chapter

 _About Harry's physiognomy:_ He looks like Mark Ryder, playing Cesare Borgia. Harry will let his beard grow in a similar fashion.


	4. Chapter 4

I do not own Harry Potter or A Song of Ice and Fire.

 _Beta_ \- AminaS

"Speech"

'Thoughts'

"Shouting"

 _Flashback_

* * *

The noise of hundreds of galloping horses was like a ballad of a chivalrous song. The trail followed a slope westward toward the inn at the crossroads. The road was very dangerous on this stretch, weaving its way through narrow, rocky curves, and thick forests surrounded by mountains. Three times the travelers would change direction until they reached another straighter slope, then again changing again two more times, until they reached the exit between two rocky formations, something almost imperceptible to those approaching from the outside.

The Lord of Eyrie sighed as he took the lead of his platoon with his black steed. While trotting he had found the strategic geography of the Valley fascinating, taking over the place was almost impossible. It was difficult to prepare an army and march against them, unless they were familiar with the geography of the place, its mountains and forests, traps, precipices, and swamps. To start a war against the Vale, the enemy would have to know of such factors; it was crucial to coordinate surprise attacks, point of defense, and weaknesses. But here, in the middle of everything, it was difficult to analyze and think about such a thing. The region where he was Lord was almost impenetrable.

"I received a raven earlier. Lord Hoster Tully is looking forward to the meeting, though ..." Yohn Royce whispered as he rode beside him.

"Though ..." Harry demanded answers by looking earnestly at his vassal closely.

The Lord of Runestone glanced sideways to see if he was within range of any eavesdropper, pulling the reins of his stallion a little closer to his Lord.

"My Lord. Riverrun is in mourning at the moment. Lord Tully's youngest daughter, Lysa, and her little grandson were found dead in the seat of her husband, Ser Kevan Lannister. The Lord Paramount of the Trident did not seem happy with the Lannisters, if the words on the letter were anything. "

Harry scowled after receiving this information. Despite his initial displeasure, he reluctantly accepted the news positively. He had received a letter from the Lord of Winterfell three days ago informing him that his wife had received a letter from his sister in a private language with suspicions that the Lannisters were involved in Harry's father's death.

That day, Harry stayed up all night trying to discover the deeper mystery of that message. He reflected and argued inwardly with himself, seeking to understand Lysa's intentions when she accused the Lannisters, the family of the Queen of Westeros. She did so without giving any concrete proof and it was unclear what she would gain from this knowledge. What was Lysa's goal?

Harry had thanked Lord Stark and promised to investigate that news and bring it to his assassins if they proved the veracity of the information to the King's justice. Although, at no time did he let it appear that he was aware of the possible perpetrators of his father's death.

But now, with the news of Lysa's death, even Harry was a little lost, and he needed to assess the chessboard. Looks like had more players playing. And this new player is behind Lysa's death, and motivated her before her death to send a letter to the north.

'Lysa was only a pawn, and when no longer needed, she was sacrificed. Was Varys the manipulator of the woman, or perhaps a lover? '

Harry thought and now seemed reticent towards the lions and knew he would have to act cautious at the moment. A player was hiding in the shadows and any mistake or hasty action could be fatal.

"I understand. Anyway, let's leave this conversation aside. We will stop to fill our stomach and rest and then we will follow our way to Riverrun. "

"Of course, my lord." replied the Bronze Yohn diligently.

The silence took over and the only sound was from the trotting of the horses. Harry was quiet now. Despite being away from the Eyrie, he had confidence that his house would be safe. Anya Waynwood, the Lady of Ironoaks was a good administrator and would rule the Vale faithfully in his absence, and, if she needed physical strength Lyn Cobray would be there to provide assistance.

Harry and his knights risked galloping faster and continued for some time until they reached a hill in the far west of a high point, giving them a view of a huge forest in the distance. Disregarding the vision ahead, they began their descent down a trail that snaked and curved around the area to reach a small river.

Upon reaching said river, they stopped a little to rest and take their fill of the fresh water, then they resumed the journey. They ran down the road for a few miles until they broke left to the south side, skirting between trees and rock formations. They went up this road and when they reached the lower part on their left was Inn at the crossroads.

"Here we are!" Harry shouted, "Let's rest here tonight, the darkness is coming and it's very dangerous to travel in the dark. You'll all be in the stable and will camp in the guard area." He commanded receiving grunts of acknowledgment from some of the men while others resounded their affirmations.

The inn was three stories tall, with towers and white stone chimneys. Its south wing was built on piles that rise on a bed of weeds. On the north side was a barn with thatched roof and a bell tower. The building was surrounded by a low wall of broken white stones to give some form of defense if necessary.

The view of the wooden walls and an internal ceiling was most welcome to the group at the end of a gray and wet afternoon. It was especially welcoming when the smoke from the stone chimney promised warmth. Then there was the smell of hot food in the air, good drink and the safety of a good night's sleep in one of the rooms, away from the elements. However, as they approached, the weariness began to make them slow down, even if they wanted nothing more than to rush through the doors to reach the small comfort that was given by the modest abode.

Harry entered the tavern of the Inn while the men dealt with the strange tasks necessary: "My good Lord, what can I do for you?" a little girl asked while she led Harry to the table in front usually manned by the owner of the inn, a woman named Masha Heedle.

Harry stared at the girl for a few seconds, gazing at her head carefully. She was a beautiful young woman; she had long red hair that she wore in a large braid. She wore a plain dress that was a light color with flower detail on the shoulders and hem of the dress, and although it was not very pretty, was probably used at the request of her employer not to draw much attention due to some of the less desirable travelers who possibly have come since the dress hid the girl's body instead of accentuating it. Her face was wide pretty to look at: she had a rosy mouth that was very well defined and had a big smile, her eyes were a very light brown, and her skin had no spots or scars that could damage her appearance.

The girl's cheeks flushed red as she noticed his client's gaze and his beautiful features, as well as having an idea of who he was. Fighting the battle to stop blushing a storm, she shook her head by turning her attention to the nobleman and not to his appearance: "Do you want beer or food, Lord Arryn?" She politely asked how she did not want to insult the man in front of her.

Harry thought for a moment before replying, "Both, for two people. Ah! Two glasses of beer would also be appreciated from me." Harry said when he saw that the inn was not full, but the common room was almost empty. However, this soon changed when the scouts entered the place and took over part of the area.

"There's a good roasted lamb with an herbal crust, and a few ducks that Lady Masha's nephew found on his last. Which dish do you want?" The maid asked carefully.

Harry uttered with a simple answer, "Both."

The girl laughed as she nodded and moved to a shelf as she took out a metal container and a bottle, "Well, you look pretty tired, it'll be enough for that," she stated with a smile as she filled the mug with beer and took it to Harry, "Will you want a room for the night too?" She asked gently knowing that she would probably be taking care of preparing the room for both of them, since Lady Masha would want to keep an eye on the common area with so many people.

Harry nodded, but clarified:

"A room with two beds, please. And take my order to that table." The young lord said pointing to a corner, where a graying lord waited patiently sitting at the table, and was grateful when she nodded before leaving with Harry watching her before he smiled and just looked around the room while drinking the beer and walked on direction of the innkeeper.

"Masha!" Harry exclaimed cheerfully as he approached the fat woman.

Though, it felt a shiver creeping through the spine when he noticed the smile full of teeth stained in a dark tone of the lady who owns the inn. It was a bloody horror.

 _ **xxx**_

Winterfell

The hunters left at dawn. The king desired wild boar for the night's feast. Prince Joffrey was with his father, and for that reason Robb was also allowed to join the group. Uncle Benjen, Jory, Theon Greyjoy, Ser Rodrik, and even the queen's funny little brother went with them. After all, it was the last hunt. The next morning, they would leave for the South.

Bran had been left behind with Jon, the girls and Rickon. But Rickon was just a baby, the girls were just girls, and he could not find Jon and his wolf anywhere. For the last few days, Bran could hardly wait for the leaving. He was going to walk the king's road on a horse that was his, not a pony, but a real horse. Their father would be King's Hand, and would live in the Red Keep at King's Landing, the castle the Dragon Lords had built. Old Nan said there were ghosts, and dungeons where terrible things had been done, and dragon heads on the walls. Bran shivered just thinking about it, but he was not afraid. How could he have been? Their father would be with him, and also the king, with all his knights and men of arms.

Bran was going to be a knight himself someday, one of the Kingsguard. Old Nan said they were the finest swords in all the realm. There were only seven of them, and they wore white armor and had no wives or children, but lived only to serve the king. Bran knew all the stories. Their names were like music to him. Serwyn of the Mirror Shield. Ser Ryam Redwyne. Prince Aemon the Dragonknight. The twins Ser Erryk and Ser Arryk, who had died on one another's swords hundreds of years ago, when brother fought sister in the war the singers called the Dance of the Dragons. The White Bull, Gerold Hightower. Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. Barristan the Bold.

Two of the King's Guards had come north with King Robert. Bran had watched them in fascination, never daring to speak to them. Ser Boros was a bald man with a broad jaw, and Ser Meryn had slanting eyes and a rusty beard. Ser Jaime Lannister looked more like the knights of the stories and belonged to the King's Guard, but Robb said that he had killed the old crazy king and no longer counted. The greatest living knight was Ser Barristan Selmy, Barristan the Bold, the King Commander of the King's Guard. His father had promised that they would meet Ser Barristan when they arrived at King's Landing, and Bran had marked the passage of days on the wall of the room, anxious to leave, and start seeing a world which he had only dreamed of and begin a life he could scarcely imagine.

After the hunters had departed, he wandered through the castle with his wolf at his side, intending to visit the ones who would be left behind, Old Nan and Gage the cook, Mikken in his smithy, Hodor the stableboy who smiled so much and took care of his pony and never said anything but "Hodor," the man in the glass gardens who gave him a blackberry when he came to visit.

But it was useless. He went first to the stable and saw his pony in the bay, but it was no longer his pony, for he would have a real horse and leave the pony behind, and suddenly he just wanted to sit and cry. He turned and fled before Hodor and the other stable boys saw the tears in his eyes. It was the end of farewells. But before he said goodbye to Winterfell he decided to climb.

It had been weeks since he'd climbed the broken tower because of all that had happened since this might be his last chance.

He ran across the sacred grove, choosing the longest way, to avoid the pond where the heart-tree grew. It had always frightened him; the trees should not have eyes, Bran thought, or leaves that looked like hands. The wolf ran at his heels.

"Stay here," he told the animal at the base of the sentry tree growing by the gunsmith's wall. "Sit down, stay."

The wolf did as he was told. Bran scratched him behind his ears and then turned, jumped, grabbed a low branch, and got up. It was in the middle of the tree, moving easily from branch to branch.

The roofs of Winterfell were Bran's second home. The mother often said that he was already able to climb before he learned to walk.

To a boy, Winterfell was a labyrinth of gray stone, with walls, towers, patios, and tunnels that stretched in all directions. In the older parts of the castle, the halls were tilted up and down, so that it was not even possible to know the floor in which it was.

Bran was able to see all of Winterfell at a glance as he stepped out from under this sort of tree and climbed up to the sky. And he liked the look of the place, stretched out in front of him, with only birds whirling over his head while the whole life of the castle continued down below.

Her mother was terrified that Bran might one day slip off a wall and kill himself. He'd told her that would not happen, but she'd never believed him. Once her made him promise to stay on the ground. He kept the promise for almost a fortnight, unhappy every day, until one night he came out the window of the room when the brothers were asleep. Later, Maester Luwin molded a little clay boy, dressed him in Bran's clothes, and threw him from the wall into the courtyard, to demonstrate what would happen to Bran if he fell. It was amusing, but after the demonstration Bran simply looked at the maester and said:

"I am not made of clay, and in any case, I never fall."

Now Bran was going from gargoyle to gargoyle with the ease of long practice when he heard the voices. He was so startled that he almost lost his support. The First Tower had been empty all his life.

"I do not like it," a woman said. There was a row of windows beneath Bran, and the voice came from the last window on that side. "You should be the Hand."

"Gods forbid," a man's voice replied lazily. "It's not an honor I'd want. There's far too much work involved."

Bran hung, listening, suddenly afraid to go on. They might glimpse his feet if he tried to swing by.

"Don't you see the danger this puts us in?" the woman said. "Robert loves the man like a brother."

"Robert can barely stomach his brothers. Not that I blame him. Stannis would be enough to give anyone indigestion."

"Don't play the fool. Stannis and Renly are one thing, and Eddard Stark is quite another. Robert will listen to Stark. Damn them both. I should have insisted that he name you, but I was certain Stark would refuse him."

"We ought to count ourselves fortunate," the man said. "The king might as easily have named one of his brothers, or even Littlefinger, gods help us. Give me honorable enemies rather than ambitious ones, and I'll sleep more easily by night."

They were talking about Father, Bran realized. He wanted to hear more. A few more feet . . . but they would see him if he swung out in front of the window.

"We will have to watch him carefully," the woman said.

"I would sooner watch you," the man said. He sounded bored. "Come back here."

"Lord Eddard has never taken any interest in anything that happened south of the Neck," the woman said. "Never. I tell you, he means to move against us. Why else would he leave the seat of his power?"

"A hundred reasons. Duty. Honor. He yearns to write his name large across the book of history, to get away from his wife, or both. Perhaps he just wants to be warm for once in his life."

"Jon Arryn's son is treated like a little brother by Robert and Eddard. It's a wonder that Harry is not here to greet us with his accusations."

Bran looked down. There was a narrow ledge beneath the window, only a few inches wide. He tried to lower himself toward it. Too far. He would never reach.

"You get bored for no reason. Harry Arryn is a scared kid."

"This frightened kid is Lord of the Eyrie, Defender of the Valley and Warden of the East. He was taught to use a sword by Ser Barristan Selmy," said the woman.

"If he knew anything, he would have taken the chance and came to talk to Robert here in the north. He's probably scared and hidden among the mountains of the Vale," replied the man arrogantly.

"My father wanted to bring Harry Arryn to Casterly Rock years ago. Jon knew that his son's life would be held hostage by him. He knew that until the boy grew up and became the regent of his region, he was safe on top of the Eyrie. "

"Harry," the man made the name sound like a plague. "I find it funny that you've always been interested in that hawk's cub. It would be his eyes Lannister," he laughed, a bitter sound. "Let Lord Arryn become as bold as he wishes. Whatever he knows, whatever he thinks he knows, he has no proof." He paused for a moment. "Or what do to think he has?"

"Do you think the king will require proof?" the woman said. "I tell you, he loves me not."

"And whose fault is that, sweet sister?"

Bran studied the ledge. He could drop down. It was too narrow to land on, but if he could catch hold as he fell past, pull himself up . . . except that might make a noise, draw them to the window. He was not sure what he was hearing, but he knew it was not meant for his ears.

"You are as blind as Robert," the woman was saying.

"If you mean I see the same thing, yes," the man said. "I see a man who would sooner die than betray his king."

"He betrayed one already, or have you forgotten?" the woman said. "Oh, I don't deny he's loyal to Robert, that's obvious. What happens when Robert dies and Joff takes the throne? And the sooner that comes to pass, the safer we'll all be. My husband grows more restless every day. Having Stark beside him will only make him worse. He's still in love with the sister, the insipid little dead sixteen-year-old. How long till he decides to put me aside for some new Lyanna?"

Bran was suddenly very frightened. He wanted nothing so much as to go back the way he had come, to find his brothers. Only what would he tell them? He had to get closer, Bran realized. He had to see who was talking.

"All this talk is getting very tiresome, sister," the man said. "Come here and be quiet."

Bran looked in the window.

Inside the room, a man and a woman were wrestling. They were both naked. Bran could not tell who they were. The man's back was to him, and his body screened the woman from view as he pushed her up against a wall.

There were soft, wet sounds. Bran realized they were kissing. He watched, wide-eyed and frightened, his breath tight in his throat. The man had a hand down between her legs, and he must have been hurting her there, because the woman started to moan, low in her throat. "Stop it," she said, "stop it, stop it. Oh, please . . . " But her voice was low and weak, and she did not push him away. Her hands buried themselves in his hair, his tangled golden hair, and pulled his face down to her breast.

Bran saw her face. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was open, moaning. Her golden hair swung from side to side as her head moved back and forth, but still he recognized the queen.

He must have made a noise. Suddenly her eyes opened, and she was staring right at him. She screamed.

Everything happened at once then. ' The woman pushed the man away wildly, shouting and pointing. Bran tried to pull himself up, bending double as he reached for the gargoyle. He was in too much of a hurry. His hand scraped uselessly across smooth stone, and in his panic his legs slipped, and suddenly he was flailing. There was an instant of vertigo, a sickening lurch as the window flashed past. He shot out a hand, grabbed for the ledge, lost it, caught it again with his other hand. He swung against the building, hard. The impact took the breath out of him. Bran dangled, one-handed, panting.

Faces appeared in the window above him.

The queen. And now Bran recognized the man beside her. They looked as much alike as reflections in a mirror.

"He saw us," the woman said shrilly.

"So, he did," the man said.

Bran's fingers started to slip. He grabbed the ledge with his other hand. Fingernails dug into unyielding stone. The man reached down. "Take my hand," he said. "Before you fall."

Bran seized his arm and held on tight with all his strength. The man yanked him up to the ledge. "What are you doing?" the woman demanded.

The man ignored her. He was very strong. He stood Bran up on the sill. "How old are you, boy?"

"Seven," Bran said, shaking with relief. His fingers had dug deep gouges in the man's forearm. He let go sheepishly.

The man looked over at the woman. "The things I do for love," he said with loathing. He gave Bran a shove.

Screaming, Bran went backward out the window into empty air. There was nothing to grab on to. The courtyard rushed up to meet him.

Somewhere off in the distance, a wolf was howling. Crows circled the broken tower, waiting for corn.

 _ **xxx**_

Riverrun

Riverrun was the ancestral castle of the Tully House, and of the Lord Paramount of the Trident. 'It's a beautiful place'. Harry thought, as he reached Riverrun, and saw the noble siege of the Tully house, the rivers, the glorious landscape.

Riverrun was a strong three-sided castle, though not particularly large. The castle bounded to the north by the Tumblestone and to the south by Red Fork, while to the west a third side faced a huge artificial pit. Through the whispers he learned that in time of danger the floodgates can be opened to fill a wide moat and leave the castle surrounded on all three sides by water, turning Riverrun into a virtually unassailable island.

The castle surrounded by sandstone walls, raising water sheer, its battlements are crenelated and have arrow loops, and its towers command the opposing shores. Riverrun is known for the ability to store supplies for men and horses for as long as two years. A garrison of two hundred men is larger than Riverrun requires in most circumstances. Their guards wear fish-crested helmets. The doors of the castle seemed to be made of heavy brazilwood.

He spotted the wheel tower that had a large waterwheel turned by the Tumblestone. It was made of a climbing ivy next to it, and below it made a wide turn and ended up in shaking waters. The Tumblestone led, at the water gate, to a wide arc and heavy iron portcullis, red with rust in its lower half. It was named for being half in the water, and one must use a boat to cross it. Many boats were tied inside the Water Gate, bound to iron rings on the walls. The water ladder led from the lower bailey to the castle.

Harry took the shortest route from the Great Hall, to the castle through the sacred grove, a light and airy garden with elms, redwoods, wildflowers, nesting birds, and streams. The heart tree is a lean sculpted strain. The September in Riverrun is a sandstone building with seven faces between the gardens of the late Lady Minisa Tully. Inside, the images of the Seven were visibly painted in marble. A rainbow of light filled the sept.

Riverrun's dungeons were windowless and damp with their heavy doors made of wood and iron. The castle also contained kennels and stables. Apparently.

Harry and Lord Royce were in the Great Hall of Riverrun with a dozen Valemen accompanying him. His knights stood outside waiting for any order.

"Welcome, Lord Arryn."

Harry turned his body after hearing a hoarse voice of smoke and saw at the end of the corridor of the Great Hall, were two distinct men, beckoning him with courtesy and walking towards them.

The owner of the voice wore gray armor, but in the cloak was Riverrun's blue and red waving, and a brilliant black fish worked in gold and obsidian fastened the folds of the cloak to the man's shoulder. His features were wrinkled and worn, and time had robbed him of the color of his hair and had left them only gray, he offered him a small smile, thick eyebrows, thick as caterpillars, and laughter in his eyes, deep blue. This was Ser Brynden Tully, also known as the Blackfish. Brother of Lord Hoster Tully.

The second man was younger. This must have been Riverrun's heir, Edmure Tully. With red hair and deep blue eyes, like most Tullys, and a flaming red beard. The man has a sturdy build, but he is of short stature, compared to Harry.

Edmure wore a tunic embroidered with silver fish, as well as a padded red wool jerkin with a trout embroidered in heels. He wielded a sword, and tried to look intimidating as a true Lord, but soon Harry realized that the heir was failing and almost giggled at the display, but preferred to be quiet.

"Ser Edmure Tully, Ser Brynden is a pleasure to meet you and I am honestly thankful that you welcome me so gracefully after a family loss." Harry said sympathetically, shaking hands with the two men and introducing Royce to them.

"You flatter us, my lord. We have something in common, those pests Lannis-"

"What my nephew means, Lord Arryn, is that we also know of his pain, and so my lord, brother, has decided to fulfill the meeting which you two would have here." Blackfish said cutting his nephew hard.

Harry waved at the older Tully, though later saving the little slip of the heir Tully. 'Impression of mine or he would accuse the Lannister of something' He thought.

"Anyway, I'll take them to their rooms, and later you two be taken to my brother's chamber. I'm afraid he's not in the best of his health." reported Ser Brynden categorically.

Harry and Lord Royce followed the two knights.

The sight was not what he expected. The Lord Paramount of the Trident was clearly affected by some serious illness, Lord Hoster seemed to have lost a lot of weight recently and seemed to have shrunk. His hair and beard were white, he was being helped by a maester, named Vyman, leaning against the head of the bed, beside it was a small desk with several rolls of rolled parchment. The old lord pulled the striped robes in red and blue to waist high, and propped his back on thick cushions.

"Sit"-Cough, Cough- "Please, Lord Arryn, Lord Royce." Said the old man after taking a white cloth from his mouth. He slowly stretched his fragile arm to the table and picked up a parchment.

Harry and Yohn sat down and each took a glass of wine that the butler of the castle, Utherydes Wayn, offered. Ser Brynden and Ser Edmure are seated next door and the Maester was also present.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Hoster, although I do not want to lengthen our conversation and disturb your rest." Harry said respectfully.

"I apologize, my young lord. As a Lord Paramount, I should receive a guest of your importance in the best possible physical health condition."

"Nonsense Lord Hoster. What matters is our mind. In a negotiation what prevails is the mind."

The Lord of Riverrun nodded, nodding agreement and letting a small smile bloom on his wrinkled lips.

"Well said, young man, I see that you have inherited your father's mind. I remember our conversations during Robert's Rebellion, however ... Cough ... I would like to know what kind of alliance you intend between Vale ... Cough ... and Riverrun. " The old man spoke with a little difficulty.

Straight to the point. Harry realized that Lord Hoster was seriously ill, and doubted that the man could stay alive for another two years. It was better to do a negotiation that would close all the loose ends, and it also pleased the heir, Edmure, present at the moment.

"Well, my Lord," Harry began, pulling a parchment from his mantle. "I would like to present a marriage proposal between your son and heir, Edmure Tully and Ysilla Royce, the daughter of my most trusted vassal and the second most powerful house in the Vale." He finished leaving a thoughtful old man, a quiet maester, a silent knight and a shocked heir.

"Marry, but I still-"

"Shut up, Edmure ... Cough." Old Tully spoke as he coughed on the cloth. After a few seconds he turned his gaze to the parchment Harry offered.

"I see, this girl seems to be a good match, but ... Cough ... As much as the House Royce of Runestone is an old house they are still vassals, not wanting to offend you, Lord Royce." Said the old man who received a nod of understanding from the Lord of Runestone. and continued. "My son is heir and the next Lord of Riverrun. I would need some compensation, Lord Arryn ..." The old man finished between coughs.

Harry crossed his arms in thought while the old man in front of him coughed uncontrollably. 'Very astute' knowing thought beforehand the personality of his host. He looked to the right side and saw that the heir Tully had a frown on his face.

"Ysilla is a very beautiful and intelligent young woman, Ser Edmure. If I were to marry any daughter of one of my vassals, my first choice would be her. I will also reward you, above all. "When Harry said those words, he realized that the heir of Riverrun calmed down more.

"And what would be the benefits the Riverlands would have with a Lady of the Valley, my young lord." The old man had resumed his conversation after a long coughing fit.

Harry pulled two more scrolls from the mantle, unwinding fast and open on the table beside the bed.

"Hard days are coming, my lords, and as the Starks like to say: Winter is Coming, and it will come in the form of war, and which region is most affected by the conflicts in Westeros?"

"The Riverlands." Speeking for the first time since entering the room, said Ser Brynden.

"Exactly. However, I have a solution, which you will be able to read in more detail in the scrolls. To simplify, I will assist the Tully House with an army of Valemen, among them the best, knights, Lancers, archers and more," Harry rose after excited and continued. "Think about it, if it is to add men from the Riverlands, we would have summed around thirty to 40000 men parked around of Riverrun. This castle would be a real fortress." Realizing that he was very excited, the Lord of Eyrie sat down with a little embarrassment.

Ser Brynden threw back his head and laughed.

"I like your enthusiasm, my lord. It's always good to see this kind of excitement in young people," commented, before nodding more seriously. "Tell me, Lord Arryn, I see a very ambitious plan here. The Riverlands is only a means to an end? What do you intend to do with thousands of men loyal to you in this territory?" He asked looking at Harry with a steel look.

Harry sighed and looked at the bed where old Hoster looked at him expectantly, while the heir, Edmure, had an ambitious look.

"As I have said before, the war is coming in. I fear that the kingdom will be divided into several parts and the Iron Throne will be the final grand prize. I intend to have the least possible loss, and an alliance with the Riverlands would be in the best interest possible." Harry spoke coldly.

"Can we never be at peace?" Ser Brynden muttered sarcastically.

"Peace with those damned lions at Red Keep." Yohn Royce growled angrily. Lord Jon Arryn was a man of integrity and he, like other lords of the Vale, was outraged by the lions.

This caught the eye of everyone in the chamber. The Lannisters had not been summoned at this meeting, because it was of no interest now. However…

"Lannister? Do you know anything about them? I'm talking, Father, the Lannisters are conspiring." Edmure bellowed enraged. He was about to get up when he was seated in his chair again by his uncle.

"Calm down, Edmure."

Lord Hoster Tully took a glass of water and gulped gently. After drinking he set his glass down on the table.

"My daughter, the youngest, Lysa, had sent me a raven with some information which at first I thought was only some extravagance of my rebellious daughter and her impulsiveness." The old man paused for a moment to catch his breath. "A few moons later, she and my little grandson were found dead in her husband's seat. No one in my Westerlands offered an explanation, not even the man who married my daughter." He explained in a voice devoid of life.

Harry for the first time seeing the expression on the face of the Bronze Yohn, was incredulous. Shaking his head, he turned his attention to the Lord of Riverrun.

" This is worrying." Harry began, before beginning to explain some things giving some half truth to the Tully. Harry would not tell them the whole truth. Whoever talks a lot in Westeros ends up being caught in a big spider's web. He said his father was investigating something about the Lannisters and it seemed that he was close to discovery when he fell ill and died soon after. He told of how Maester Colemon was improving his father's condition when he was sent to Eyrie by the Grand Maester Pycelle. Jon Arryn's illness worsened later, and he soon died. He told them that even as a child, Tywin Lannister wanted him to be raised in Casterly Rock, but his good father had denied it at the time.

"See this my good lords, the lions are in the lair. However, at any moment they will leave the den and we need to be prepared." Harry finished pointedly, eyeing each of the men in the room.

Lord Hoster fixed his gaze before him, pensive. It lasted about three minutes, but then he looked at Vyman, the maester waved to his definite lord.

"You're right, Lord Arryn, is this where I sign?" Hoster asked pointing to a line on the parchment. Harry nodded with a small smile. That was what he wanted, now he would have a command position outside the Vale, thus giving him a great military advantage against the men of the Westerlands. What's more, he could grow food out of the Vale without harming his land. The Riverlands are fertile lands.

He was taken from his thoughts.

"You'll have a great ally, Edmure, be a man you do not have to live a need more men like Lord Arryn in Westeros, and fewer men like Petyr Baelish." The old man finished before putting the parchments in the maester's hands.

Harry suddenly became alert. Petyr Baelish was a name he despised but had forgotten because he did not feel it necessary to waste time on someone of low birth. House Baelish of the Fingers was a house he exiled from the Vale, after discovering that the man who had control of the customs in Gulltown was diverting money and using his position to receive bribes. It was shortly after Harry's discovery that this man was actually the current Master of coin of the King's Landing court, appointed by his own father to the Small Council. He remembered a short man in Red Keep, who seemed impotent but liked to secrete about his youth in Riverrun and his friendship with Lord Hoster's two daughters. Harry had sent a raven to Petyr and received no reply, not even a protest against the destruction he commanded from the unnamed tower in the Fingers. Harry needed that place to build a watchtower and a military settlement, something he built a year ago.

' _No_!' Harry thought when a few pieces began to fit together. A man of low birth who was despised and humiliated, impotent and underestimated. But at the same time ambitious. Unscrupulous. Lysa had a lover, that was what Harry had thought days ago. Lover!

His father had once told him that there was a rumor that Littlefinger took Lysa's virginity, and therefore Lord Hoster was willing to marry his daughter to a lord of any age.

War generates money in Westeros, the Master of Coin takes over the gold in King's Landing and is the one who oversees the taxes collected by all seven kingdoms.

The king's former hand is the father of his suzerain who exiled his one and only small house from the land of his birth.

"Son of a bitch." Harry whispered coming to an accomplishment. He was wrenched from his thoughts by a slight shake on his shoulders.

"Are you well, Lord Arryn?" It was the worried voice of the heir, Edmure, who was very close to him.

Harry brushed his features and gave a small smile. Saving his thoughts on Littlefinger for later.

"I'm fine, I was lost in silly thoughts. And please call me Harry, you'll be a lord soon." The young Lord of Arryn commented as he ran his hand through his hair.

Edmure Tully grinned and put a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"You are doing my house a great favor, and call me Edmure. Incidentally, it is written on the parchment that you intend to build two towers, one on either side of the Riverrun to house the Military strength." Riverrun's heir received a nod from Harry. "So, you could build a settlement for the Smallfolk of the Riverlands. I say this without requirement, but here in these lands they suffer twice as much as their peers from other regions." Hoster's son was nervous for fear of offending his new ally. However, he received a positive response.

"Do not worry, Edmure, your concern for the Smallfolk shows your genuine concern for your land. Did you know there are almost no beggars in the Vale?" Harry asked, taking the heir Tully by surprise.

The two walked while Harry explained some of the social policies he applies in the east.

But deep in his mind, a name was being stored in seven keys: _Petyr Baelish_.

* * *

 _End of chapter_

Yes! A rewrite of Invictus. I did not feel comforted doing Crossover with Game of Thrones. So, it will be a cross between Harry Potter / A Song of Ice and Fire.

So please. Read the previous three chapters.


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